


Think of Me

by imhereforit



Series: Inspired by Songs [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Light BDSM, Past Abuse, Sexual Content, Song fic, mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-24 21:48:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22365007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imhereforit/pseuds/imhereforit
Summary: I can hear you in the kitchen, swearing and banging things together. Water running. Sizzle of something cooking. No smoke alarm. You haven’t burned anything yet.I know it’s coming. You’re going to go out. Tell me it’s with Loras. But Loras doesn’t wear perfume like that. He doesn’t smudge your lipstick.
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Series: Inspired by Songs [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1609921
Comments: 5
Kudos: 40





	Think of Me

**Author's Note:**

> Based Think of Me by Vérité. This is more experimental than what I’ve written before, in first person, abstract, vague, and short. The tags are very, very, very implied Like, barely there. But I wanted to at least tag the implications.

The water is cooling in the tub around me. It’s still. I haven’t moved it too long. The bath bomb turned the water glittery pink, hiding my own body from me. It’s better like this. Can’t see it. Can’t feel.

I can hear you in the kitchen, swearing and banging things together. Water running. Sizzle of something cooking. No smoke alarm. You haven’t burned anything yet.

I know it’s coming. You’re going to go out. Tell me it’s with Loras. But Loras doesn’t wear perfume like that. He doesn’t smudge your lipstick.

“Hey, love?” you call above the noise of the kitchen. Here it is.

“Yeah?”

“Loras texted. Wants me to meet him at the bar. I’ll probably be out late. Want me to leave a plate out for you?”

“Sure.” What else can I say? I draw my arms up out of the cooling water, watch the drops slide down my skin, leaving behind shimmering glitter. Focus on the feeling of one, from my fingertip to the back of my hand, down my wrist, my forearm, to the crook of my elbow. Notice the way the droplet drags at the fine hairs on my arm, the way it feels when the drop nestles into the bend of my arm.

If I focus on my body, the sensations around me, I can stop the feelings everywhere else. In my heart. In my mind. I know you are not coming to kiss me goodbye. You’ll leave without another word. You’ll be back late, just like you said. Most might expect you to be drunk. And sure, you’ll smell of alcohol. But you’ll be sober.

I know where you’re going. And my only hope is that you can’t stop thinking about me.

I hope you have to keep your eyes closed to press close to her in the club downtown. I hope when you grind on her ass, you shut your eyes tight. I hope you imagine it’s me. I hope you’re remembering the times when you used to take me out, dance with me late into the night, the sun rising as we stumble home.

I hope you fuck her with your eyes closed. When you have her tied to her bed, spread out and wanting you, I hope you think of me. I hope you turn the lights down, press her into the mattress, imagine me instead of her. When your fingers slip inside her, curl into her cunt, you remember how warm I always am for you, how wet and wanting. As she moans into your neck, I hope it sounds foreign to your ears. I hope you conjure up the memory of my voice in your ear, my voice telling you how much I want your hands on me. I hope the taste of her on your tongue reminds you of what you’re missing, what’s here waiting for you.

I hope you fuck her with your eyes closed.

I like to believe this isn’t about you not wanting me. I choose to believe it. I know you’ve always wanted me, from the first moment you saw me. You used to tell me all the time. But...I know you want something more from me. I know you want what I can’t give you. We’ve had this discussion so many times before. You ask, you beg, you cry. I say no, I plead, I cry. We hold each other all night. You whisper apologies in my ear, promise you’re not him. I mumble apologies into your hair, tell you my body doesn’t know the difference.

I like to believe you’re just trying to go out and get what you can’t get from me. That shame fills you as you walk home every time. That when you climb into bed next to me, already asleep, you cry to yourself, silently beg my forgiveness.

I’ve been pretending not to notice. The way the nights keep getting later, more frequent. That you smell like a stranger. That you don’t touch me anymore, not like that. That your kisses are too soft, too delicate, like each is an apology you cannot give voice to. I pretend the love notes you leave in my lunch aren’t new. That you’ve always tried to cook dinner as much as you do now.

But I don’t think I can pretend anymore.

The bath water is almost as cool as the air now, and I stand, closing my eyes and feeling the water slip down my skin, noticing the sensations again. I don’t know how to feel about all this, the way you go behind my back to get something you need, that I can’t give. I have been pretending it’s not happening, that it doesn’t hurt me. That I don’t feel like I’m not enough for you. But it’s too much now. I can’t pretend.

I wait for you for hours, sitting on the couch. I eat the food you made for me. I try to read, but I can’t focus. So I just stare out the front window, wondering if every passing set of headlights are yours.

Finally, they are. And you come inside, color draining from your face when you see me. I can see the lipstick on your neck that you didn’t notice and wash away. I don’t need to say anything. You know. I can see it in your eyes when you realize, your face crumbling, all the shame you tried to bottle up coming to the surface.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice shaking, tears already filling your eyes. You stumble to me, collapse onto the carpet before me, hands clasped together, begging forgiveness. You press your cheek to my thigh, tears dripping onto my bare skin. I focus on the salty drops sliding down my skin, follow the sensation rather than confront you.

I don’t know what to say. And neither do you. What do you do when you’re not enough for someone anymore? When you can’t be enough? I don’t want to hold you back. I don’t want to lose you.

You crawl close to me, wrap your arms around my waist, your cheek now pressed to my hip. Your sobs leave you shuddering. You’re trying to speak, I can tell. But I can’t understand you. My skin is damp with your tears. I look down at you, not knowing what to feel, what to think. I watch my own tear fall and splash against your shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you sob. “I love you.”

Over and over again, you tell me you love me. That you’re sorry. That you didn’t want to hurt me.

And I can’t help it, but I believe you.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you’ve got a song you’d like to read a fic based on, drop it in the comments and I just might do it!


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